Welcome back and thank you sooooo much for sticking with me and the boys and Bobby on this adventure! I appreciate each of your comments so very much! I hope as always that this chapter is to your liking. Let the healing begin...maybe ;)
"So, how's he doing? What does it say?"
Bobby is finding it hard to concentrate with Sam breathing down his neck, so he prays for some good news as he glances at the thermometer. And there it is, thank you. 101. That is something they can at least handle. Guess that bath helped. And now that he knows Dean is showing signs of some sort of physical recovery, he wishes he would have run to get that camera after all. Cuz Lord knows they could all use a big laugh right about now.
He can still feel breath on his neck and the tickle of Sam's way too long locks on his face. He hands the instrument over to the younger brother and watches as his features slowly lose some of the strain that has been a pretty much permanent fixture; as it ebbs away from him ever so slightly.
Bobby shifts his gaze towards the man on the couch; the man who currently seems to be having one heck of a time keeping his eyes open. He watches for a moment as they start to close, then pop open again just to start the process all over again.
"Dean, you're doing better kid so it's time to let go; just close your eyes and keep 'em closed. Get some rest. Sam and I will do the same. Got it?"
Dean mumbles something far too low for him to hear, but Bobby is fairly sure that it is just simple exhaustion that has claimed him this time; that he wasn't busy spewing out the utterings of delirium is a definite positive stop. Hell if he ain't felt this happy in a long time. That's kinda sad and ridiculous. Happy that someone has a slight fever and a bullet wound. Shit, his life, and those of the two boys, is just so weird.
It takes about one nano second for Dean's eyes to drift closed and as Bobby watches him slowly slip into what he hopes is a peaceful slumber, he sighs and pats the injured man affectionately on the chest. Kid has had one hell of a trip and maybe now they can all get some much needed rest.
"Sweet dreams son. And please, no more sleep walking okay? I'd hate to have to clobber you..."
He stands and cracks his back; reminded once again that he ain't nowhere near as young as the other two shit disturbers that are sharing his house with him at the moment. Yup, spring chicken days are definitely over.
"So now what?"
He startles a bit, had kind of forgot that he wasn't the only other conscious person in the room. Maybe it's because of the wash of relief that he feels, or maybe it's because his body and mind ache and he just wants to go to bed and sleep for a damn year, but he flinches at the sound of Sam's voice in his ear.
"We call it a night that's what. Or I guess we call it a morning by the looks of it, and get some sleep. The worst is over now Sam but your brother still has a lot of healing to do so we need to be ready; he'll be ornary and stubborn as all hell when he gets his bearings. I don't know about you, but that is something I don't intend on dealing with; something I can't deal with on no sleep and an empty stomach."
Bobby can see the indecisiveness surface once again on the younger Winchester's face. Hell, he can't blame him. He has had to witness all kinds of unbelievable shit over the last who knows how many hours. The topper; the one thing that Bobby knows is busy circling around in his head like a buzzard who can smell death, is Dean with that damn gun in his hand; the vision of his brother totally prepared to end his own life. Bobby ain't sure if Dean even remembers that, but the damage has definitely been done; the image has been painfully seared into Sam's brain, as well as his own.
And Bobby also knows that come Hell or high water, Sam is going to talk to his brother about it, whether his brother is in a talkative mood or not. It's not something the older sibling is gonna take kindly to, so Bobby needs to be at least a little refreshed so he can assume his role of referee in this relationship. Ain't he the lucky one?
"Listen Sam, I know you're feeling a bit skittish about leaving him alone and I understand that, I do. You are worried something else is gonna happen but the fever is down and he is at least making some kind of sense now."
Sam ain't budging, his body language screams out defiance to this whole going to sleep nonsense, but Bobby ain't about to let Sam go any longer without some rest for himself. As if to emphasize his rightness about all this, he can't help but chuckle when Sam is overtaken by the hugest yawn he's ever seen. And great, now it's his turn. He really needs to lay down.
"Okay son, that kind of settles it, for both of us. How about I get ya a blanket and pillow and at least you have the option. If all the damn hovering I know you are gonna do as soon as I head off to bed starts to wear you out, you'll have everything you need to just rest your eyes for a minute. Okay?"
Another yawn later and Sam nods his head.
"Yeah, okay Bobby. That'd be great. Thanks."
"Don't mention it kid."
He slowly opens his eyes and with the way he feels the exhaustion still grip him in a tight embrace, he figures he has managed all of a half hour of sleep. Balls. But, once he rubs his eyes and focuses intently on the clock, it tells him quite a different story. It's been a few hours. He leans back on the mattress again and grabs his ball cap from the night stand. Those boys are running his old body ragged.
Shit, he better move his ass, go down there and make sure they haven't killed each other yet.
The distinctive, and at the moment saliva inducing aroma of coffee floods his nostrils like it's the sweetest perfume on the planet. So, Sam is up then and is getting all his ducks in a row for the talk yet to come; to lure Dean awake and into a good mood with coffee and then slam him with the events of the night before. Should be fun, lucky he's got a front row seat.
As he walks around the corner with Sam's name on his lips he stops mid stride. Well, he sure as hell wasn't expecting this. Dean. Sitting at the table with a steaming cup of coffee, although by the looks of things he doesn't seem to be that interested in it, or even that it's there. He's crouched over and has an elbow propped up on the table in an attempt, Bobby guesses, at keeping himself from tilting over the side.
Bobby clears his throat to announce his arrival and sees tired, make that very tired, eyes look up at him. He does a quick nod to the young man and quickly scans his face. He is pleased to see the swelling has gone down even more, but the paleness is still there and he has to fight the urge to grab him and escort him none to friendly like back to the couch where he damn well belongs. Idjit.
Bobby looks to the other room and sees Sam sprawled out on the floor, one arm over his eyes, and Bobby can hear a slight snore escape him. The older man can't help but smile. At least one of the Winchester boys knows enough to get some damn sleep. He turns back to the injured man who looks like he is precariously perched on his chair, and saunters over to get himself a cup of joe. His instincts tell him loud and clear that he is sure as hell gonna need it.
Dean hasn't said a word, just stares at his cup and then to the room he recently occupied and back to the cup. Bobby can be pretty sure the man hasn't even taken a sip out of the damn thing, and can't help but wonder exactly where Dean's head is at right now.
The older hunter sits directly across and waits until Dean meets his gaze.
"Dean? Wanna tell me what the hell you are doing out here when you look like you're two seconds away from doing a major faceplant?"
The brows on Dean's face crinkle a bit at that, as if he can't understand why Bobby finds it strange that he is in here. He looks up to him and takes in the features of the older man.
"Bobby... look like shit man... should go back... bed... m'good... just needed to sit for a minute..."
"Yeah, I bet you did. How are you feeling? And please, don't treat me like I'm the damn idjit that was born yesterday son. You should be over there sleeping it off. So, gonna ask one more time Dean, what the hell are you doing out here?"
Dean gulps and sighs and drags a hand over his face. He winces slightly and presses into his wounded shoulder. When he looks back up to Bobby the look that he finds there seems odd to him. The eldest brother looks uncertain. Or, stranger yet, frightened. Dean Winchester doesn't really do frightened so Bobby is caught a bit off guard at that.
"Um... what the hell happened Bobby? I feel like I got run over by a damn freight train, my shoulder and face hurt like a bitch and... and..."
Dean looks to his hand, the one that is now shaking like the proverbial leaf on a tree, and the young man concentrates on it so hard that Bobby feels the most uneasy feeling develop in a hurry in the pit of his stomach. Dean shakes his head in a movement of disbelief. Okay, he definitely needs to get Dean talking, fast.
"And what son?"
"I keep...seeing myself. And you. And..." his voice starts to break and as his body starts to rattle even more, Bobby knows instantly what is the cause. "...Sammy. I... I tried..." Yup, Dean knows exactly what he tried to do and as he loses his fragile grip on the table, the older hunter flies over with uncharacteristic speed and agility to get in front of him just as he collapses. Shit. So much for easing you into the truth, you damn idjit.
TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by! :)